Nogitsune double-taps the Kampff sound processor, making sure it's firmly seated and won't short the connection at the worst time. The things have a habit of not quite locking in. It makes a satisfying <click>. It wasn't quite seated after all. Nearly didn't catch that.
She surveys the re-installed processor array in its aluminum collar and surrounding grid. She knows better than to tamper with anything near the transactions processor - rumour has it that Dataterms are rigged to explode if you do. In Japan, a civilized land, DataTerm simply talks to your central account and smoothly deducts the credits from there. Here, it looks like it actually takes cash. Regardless, she's pretty sure she can bypass that in the software. Avoiding the trace will be a trick, of course.
Nogitsune is ready to jack in and get out of Meatspace. Her companions stand nearby, as far as they can tell alone in the building.
Further down the street, whatever the Inquisitor tossed into the hallway detonates with a dull "crump" sound, as if someone jumped on a can of Kibble and flattened it under their boots. Cursing and yelling comes from the building.
Wallace walks deeper into the City with the Inquisitor, who seems to be gently humming somethng under his breath.
((Scene End))
-------------------------------
Night City after midnight flies past Jade where she crouches behind Wrench. Wrench's jacket smells slightly of motor oil and burnt metal, along with whatever overly-strong detergent it was last washed in, kind of a cloves-and-baking soda scent.
As they roll through one of the most dangerous cities in the world, it unspools a montage of Night City Events. There, a Media team unloading from a pair of vans with NN54 emblazoned on the side, rolling someone out on a stretcher and into City Medical. One member of the team seems to watch you, hands on a Militech Ronin rifle as you slide past .
There, a small pack of Corp teens chasing a pair of homeless men into the alleys behind the Twilight Zone club. Unnoticed by the Beaverville kids, the Slaughterhouse enters the alley. One turns back to see if anyone is watching. His or her face is a mass of scars and augmented jaw-work, eyes replaced with what looks like mosquito netting.
Turning north now, Wrench has to pull over as the NCFD deploys. Two armoured light cars, bristling with eye-damaging spotlights and light Squad weapons, race out first, then come the big Engines.
Fire control in the Twentieth Century was a case of getting enough retardant and suppression on a target and knocking it down as fast as possible. Fire control in the mid-twenty-first Century maintains these principles, adapted for the often highly-synthetic materials involved, but now also involve getting the crews, drones and support wherever they have to go, in one piece.
A modern Fire Engine is a Tank, a behemoth of armour and reactive weapons suites. An armoured vehicle capable of reaching more than two hundred kilometers per hour and plowing the nasty barricades flung up by warring factions in the City. Every firefighter on board is armoured for heat, smoke and high-velocity rounds. All Engines, like a modern road battleship, are accompanied by lighter scout vehicles fore and aft, as well as airborne drone support. Even in Rush Hour, the First Responder lanes of the City clear fast when the Engines come through.
As it flies past you, the juggernaut sounds its horn jauntily.
Finally, Wrench pulls up outside the Afterlife. One thing about a 'bike, at least parking is easy. This late, the Afterlife is still roaring with life, people streaming in and out of its wide double doors.
))